


Bound

by dragonspell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exhibitionism, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rape, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re here as a little, shall we say, ‘incentive’ for my nephew.”  Peter kneels beside Derek and flips him over to run his hands along Derek’s still healing ribs.  He presses down and Derek bites his lip until it bleeds.  “If he does what I want, there’s no reason to kill you.”  He gives Stiles another smile.  “And you can watch.”</p><p>Or the hospital scene from 1.09 going a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags and warning. Trigger warning for rape.

His right hand is broken.

_(Not healing, alpha wound.)_

Left knee is fucked. 

_(Shattered, can’t heal around the glass.)_

At least two ribs broken, maybe more. 

_(Getting better.)_

Derek gasps and his lungs burn. Each breath is a razorblade in his chest, cutting him open from the inside out. He tries to get his legs under him, hisses when the glass slides in deep. He grits his teeth. The pain he can take. The pain he’s used to. 

The world sways underneath him, the floor lurching to the right, and he pitches forward, collapsing back on the ground. Concussion, he adds. _(No fucking idea.)_

He can’t run, can’t fight, can’t even seem to find his voice. So he crawls. He slides over the shattered glass of the hospital reception window, ignoring the bloody pinpricks along his skin. He needs to get away, to escape. He needs to buy time for Stiles to escape. Derek doesn’t know where Stiles is, can’t take the time to look for him. If he looks, Peter will know. Peter will know everything because he always has. Derek’s already told him, confessed himself like a fool to a man he only thought he knew.

Derek swallows. He doesn’t want it to be Peter. Laura’s dead and more than anything he doesn’t want it to have been Peter that killed her. But this is Derek’s life. How could he have forgotten? It can always get worse.

Peter’s behind him, watching him like he’s an insect that Peter’s debating squishing. His boots are crunching across the glass, simply keeping pace, and Derek hopes that it’s enough and that Stiles finally ran. Peter may kill Derek or he may not but Derek doesn’t want Stiles’s death to be on him like all the rest. He was the one that sent Stiles in here and now he needs to make sure that Stiles gets out. A crawling, crippled prey is more appealing than a smaller, running one.

His legs leave the last of the glass as he crawls around the corner and enters a room. He’s losing blood, can’t gain traction with his hands and he slips as he makes his way to the corner. This is it, he thinks. This is the best that he can do. He hauls himself up, hates how his body rebels and his stomach threatens, hates how weak he is. He can only sit and wait for death. Of the ways that Derek has imagined it, he had never considered his Uncle Peter to be the one to do it.

He should have known. Just like with Kate, he should have known better. Derek closes his eyes and tries to breathe, only to cough up blood instead. He’s as useless as he’s ever been, more so because he can’t even fight. He digs the glass out of knee, gritting his teeth against the pain, while Peter smiles at him from the door.

It hurts more than the glass.

 _Family_ , Peter says, giving it a meaning it hasn’t had since Laura died. He stands there looking as he always has, speaking of family and pack and Derek’s already broken heart fractures some more.

 _Hear me out_ , Peter asks, reaching for Derek like he used to, but Derek can’t. He can’t. Peter killed Laura, killed others, and Derek can’t. Derek snaps his teeth and lashes out with his good hand. Peter swats him away like a fly, breaks his fingers as an afterthought. Derek screams.

Claws scratch along Derek’s skin, light and gentle as they scrape his neck and slip under his jacket. They sink in, puncturing, and Derek tries to ground himself against the pain. He’s going blind with it, can’t make out much beyond Peter’s deliberately soft voice and the dark shapes that are closing in. “I didn’t want to do it, Derek,” Peter whispers. “I didn’t want to kill her. You know I wouldn’t. If I had been in my right mind, I never would have done it.” Peter’s whispers wrap around Derek and hold him fast. There’s no lie, no skip of the heart, no scent of deception, just Peter and a lingering hint of madness. Derek sobs once then chokes it back, grits his teeth and holds everything in like he’s done for six years.

“That’s right,” Peter murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, Derek. Sorry that you and Laura had to be alone, sorry I couldn’t be there with you. I’m sorry that you’ve been alone.” Peter’s claws retract back into human nails. His fingers press along Derek’s jaw in affection, understanding. Derek hasn’t felt it since Laura died. “You were never meant to be alone, Derek. Stay with me and I’ll make sure that you’ll never be alone again.”

Derek wants to. He wants it in a way that he hasn’t allowed himself to want anything since he learned that love wasn’t real. He can feel Peter in his head, scraping at the surface of his thoughts trying to get in. It would be easy to let him in. It’s instinct. _The alpha_. Peter whispers more about belonging and ending the pain. He whispers about _revenge_ but Derek looks away. He can’t face that truth. If Peter wants revenge, then he should just kill Derek, too.

Standing in the doorway like he shouldn’t be, staring at Derek and Peter like a suicidal idiot is Stiles. Stupid, crazy, brave Stiles, who’s only human and didn’t ask for any of this. He should be on a field getting his “strawberry-blonde goddess” to finally notice him but instead he’s here. His mouth is open and for once he’s still, like fear has frozen him in place. Peter’s hands are skimming over Derek’s shoulders, rubbing his arms, and he’s still talking but Derek is no longer listening because he knows that he’s looked too long. Peter’s eyes are narrowing in suspicion and Stiles is dead because he didn’t leave like he should have and Derek looked too long.

Peter turns his head to the door, fangs dropping. His claws pierce Derek’s shoulder again, keeping him in place and out of Peter’s way. A heavy-handed concept of ‘stay’ covers Derek’s mind like chains, making his limbs weak, his body lethargic. Derek shakes his head, dispelling the feeling. No. No, he won’t. “You really should have run,” Peter’s says to Stiles, his voice thick with teeth and intent. Derek’s blood goes cold but Stiles only stands there. 

Derek doesn’t think. He lets Peter’s claws shred his shoulder, gets him by surprise and takes him to the ground. He sinks his fangs into Peter’s throat, closing his eyes against Peter’s snarl, and takes the hit that Peter sinks into his midsection. Claws rake along his face and his throat until they finally get underneath and dislodge him. He’s tossed to the side like trash, rebounding off the wall.

“That was a mistake,” Peter growls. Derek knows. It’s even more of one to chance a glance at the doorway, but Stiles is finally gone. Derek hopes he’s already in the Jeep. Peter’s red eyes follow his line of sight and then he smiles. It looks nothing like him. “So that’s how it is.” His foot lashes out, cracking another of Derek’s ribs and forcing up more blood in Derek’s mouth. Derek spatters it onto the floor. “Wait here.”

No. Derek catches Peter’s ankle, sinks in his claws, but Peter just kicks him away. Pain explodes in his jaw followed by his skull as Peter smashes him to the floor. “I said stay here.” He grips Derek’s left arm, snaps it like it’s nothing. “Maybe that will help.” Then he leaves, his footsteps echoing in the hall. Derek tries to follow. He gets two feet from the wall and has to stop to swallow back the pain.

A scream tears through the hospital and Derek forces himself up. “Stiles.” He tries to crawl again, dragging his left arm behind him. There’s no one else in the hospital. Derek wonders if Peter killed them all too.

Outside the door, he hears Stiles kicking and flailing, hears Peter voice richen with amusement and Derek’s heart twists in his chest. “Peter…” His voice is little more than a puff of air. He tries again. “Peter, I’ll do it!”

Stiles slams into the floor next to Derek, spinning on his back. Derek can't see if he’s harmed, just knows that he’s terrified. “Oh, hi, Derek. Yeah, nice to see you again now that we’re both going to be killed by your psychotic muderwolf of an uncle. Isn’t that great? That’s great! Best thing since the invention of the internet—” Stiles clamps down on the words spewing from his mouth and curls in on himself. Derek can smell his panic.

“Stiles…” Stiles cuts his eyes over to him. 

“Are you…” he starts to ask, his hands reaching for Derek’s ripped up shoulder and Derek feels an urge to laugh. He buries it.

“I don’t want to kill you, Stiles,” Peter says, soft and slow as he prowls around them.

Stiles watches every step, turning to keep him in sight. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

“But it’s true. You’re here as a little, shall we say, ‘incentive’ for my nephew.” Peter kneels beside Derek and flips him over to run his hands along Derek’s still healing ribs. He presses down and Derek bites his lip until it bleeds. “If he does what I want, there’s no reason to kill you.”

Stiles is taking deep breaths, fighting back his terror. He glances down at Derek and back at Peter. “You want him to help you kill people.”

Peter shakes his head. His touch is gentle as he smoothes his fingers over Derek’s bloody cheek. Derek’s right hand is nearly healed but he knows it doesn’t matter. Peter’s too strong. “I want him to help me get revenge for our family. Don’t you want that, Derek? To finally see justice done?”

Stiles snorts. “Too bad you killed his sister.” Still brave. Still stupid.

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek struggles to get himself upward. Peter shoves him back down.

“You should rest,” he says. He gives Stiles another smile. “And you can watch.”

“Watch?” Stiles asks as Derek’s heart stutters in his chest. Peter can’t mean… He wouldn’t…

“No.” Derek winces as Peter’s claws sink in again. “No, Peter…”

“You’re still resisting me.” Peter sighs. “We’re going to have to get you over that.” Derek wishes that he could rein in his breathing, maybe not smell so desperate, but he can’t. This was only supposed to be a _story_. They didn’t do things like this anymore. His family didn’t do things like this.

“Watch what?” Stiles demands, sounding braver than he should be. He shifts closer. 

Peter drops his fangs. “If you move, I will kill you.” It’s not even a threat, just a statement. He turns his attention back to Derek and cups his face, forcing him to meet Peter’s eyes. The mask of sanity that Peter’s been trying to wear has slipped away. “If you resist, I’ll kill him.” Peter skims his hands over Derek’s chest, skating over the half-way healed ribs and stopping at his stomach. “He means nothing to me.” His claws scrape along Derek’s shirt, tearing it and biting into the skin underneath. “Do you understand?”

Derek swallows and nods. He closes his eyes and buries his pride, his pain, and the little parts of him that’s survived until now. “Yes,” he says.

“Good.” Peter shreds the top of Derek’s jeans. Derek flinches when he draws blood again, but spreads his legs when Peter trails his claws over his thighs.

“Dude, what the hell?” Stiles sounds even more scared than before. His heart is rabbit-quick and his breathing quick and shallow. He sounds like prey. Derek wishes he’d stop being Stiles, that he’d slink into the corner and disappear. Peter’s toying with them both but Derek doesn’t know how far Peter’s madness extends. He doesn’t know if Peter’s wolf can resist such obvious signs.

“Please,” Derek whispers. It costs him but it doesn’t matter anymore. “Please, Peter.” Peter leans over him, palms keeping him spread. His eyebrows rise and Derek looks away. Eye contact means a challenge and Derek can’t afford that right now. “Please,” Derek tries again. “Not with him here.” 

“I’m not stopping.” Peter’s kiss is surprising. It’s gentle and feels like regret. Derek gives himself to it. He doesn’t want to resist and give Peter a reason, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to anyway. Knowing what Peter intends, Derek soaks up what little comfort is offered.

“I’ll do what you want.” Derek keeps his voice low so that it can’t reach Stiles, makes the conversation just between him and Peter. “Just, please.” Derek and Peter have already fucked up Stiles’s life enough. He doesn’t need to see this, too.

Peter shakes his head. “He stays.”

The words sound like an apology. Derek presses forward, hoping that maybe he can find the real Peter buried somewhere in his uncle’s head. “Please, Peter—” 

Peter rips through the skin of Derek’s thighs, sinks his claws into the muscle like anchors and drags Derek forward. “Enough, or I’ll kill him anyway.”

Stiles’s small, terrified “Derek?” tears out the remains of Derek’s soul.

Derek turns his head and lets it rest against the floor as he gives in. This is going to happen and, like much in Derek’s life, there’s not a damn thing that he can do about it—not without making the situation worse. Stiles’s eyes are wide. “You should have run,” Derek tells him. Peter’s belt jingles, a counterpoint to Stiles’s rapid-fire breathing. Derek wishes he knew what to say but unfortunately he never does. If only Stiles would just look away. It would be easier if he did.

Peter shoves a finger into him and Derek grimaces, bracing himself. “Didn’t have much fun in New York, huh?” Peter asks, frowning in mock sympathy. Something slick smears against Derek and he’s just glad that he doesn’t have to do this dry.

“Stop!” Stiles yells. He skitters close like he wants to do something stupid, wants to shove Peter away or get his fragile body between Derek and Peter. “Stop, stop, stop, get off of him—” Derek tries to push him back but he’s slower than Peter. Peter grips Stiles around the throat, claws threatening to puncture the skin.

“Don’t make me have to go back on my word,” he snarls, filling it with the power of the alpha. He tosses Stiles away from them and Stiles careens into one of the darkened corners.

Derek reaches out with his senses, needing to know if Stiles is okay. It gives him something to focus on beyond Peter and his intentions. The only blood he smells is he own, but that’s not really reassuring because the entire room feels like pain. At the moment, Derek can’t tell the difference between someone else’s and his own. 

Peter thrusts into him and Derek bites back a scream. His eyes flicker and his fangs sink into his lip as Peter coos. “That’s it,” Peter says. “Let it out.” Peter’s rough, demanding. His lips seal over Derek’s neck and Derek shuts his eyes. It feels as if he’s burning. Like he’s dying.

The pain radiates up his spine. Derek tries to block it, tries to sink into himself, but he keeps coming back to Peter—Peter who’s doing this to him, Peter the only family he has left. Peter, his alpha.

Alpha.

Peter whispers in his ear, but Derek can’t understand the words, only knows the lilting voice patterns that sound like praise. It calls to a part of Derek that’s empty and needy. He wants to answer, wants to accept.

A hand grabs his, startling him, and Derek twists to look at it. Soft, pale and long-fingered. He follows it up. Stiles has moved himself back into danger, his face set in hard lines. Derek stares at the tears tracking down Stiles’s face and wonders if Stiles is hurt, if there’s something that Derek can’t see, can’t smell. Stiles stares back at Derek. His eyes are wide with fear and disgust, but he’s unflinching. Derek shakes his head and tries to pull away but Stiles holds on. He chokes back a sob and traps Derek with both hands, offering the little he has to give.

Is Stiles crying…for Derek? Derek angles himself towards Stiles’s kneeling form. No one cries for him, not anymore. Derek swallows and curls his fingers around Stiles’s grip.

Peter’s hands press against Derek’s body, leaving marks of ownership, staking his claim. He’s still hard and rough inside Derek, seeking his own pleasure and seemingly caring little for Derek’s. Derek doesn’t care. He can’t look away from Stiles. 

There they stay, Derek unable to move and Stiles unwilling. Derek feels Peter’s manipulation of his body, feels himself rocking with each thrust, but it’s distant, removed, like it’s happening to someone else. Peter’s still talking and Derek’s body responds but Derek himself has stopped listening. His ears only hear the steady thump of Stiles’s heart.

Peter finishes, shuddering on top of Derek. He bites into Derek’s just healed shoulder, bloodying the skin again. It’s possessive the way that only an alpha can be and Derek’s pulled back into the world, grounded and trapped in a hospital with the uncle he’d rather not know. _Bound._

Blood drips down Peter’s chin as he pulls back. His lips curl into an expression that should be a smile but really isn’t, then drops into mock concern. “Poor little Derek.” His fingers card through Derek’s hair. “Trying to be the big bad wolf when he’s only a scared little boy.” His fingers tighten and twist, forcing Derek to face him. Derek drops his eyes. “But now you don’t have to be alone. You have me, now.” Peter cups his jaw and pushes his head up, making Derek look directly at him. “And you’ll do whatever I want, won’t you?”

Something inside of Derek cracks as he nods. But this is his alpha. He can’t go against his alpha.

Can he?

“Time for you to go,” Peter says, his voice matching the darkness around them. Stiles’s hands jerk away and his shoes slip on the floor as he scrambles backward. Noisy and flailing, Stiles turns and runs. Derek can feel Peter making his decision, can nearly taste the rising bloodlust. It turns his stomach as it fills the air. Peter shifts, preparing to run his prey to ground and Derek knows that he’s out of options, that this time, Peter will kill and there won’t be anything that Derek can do to stop him once he goes. He’s only got right here, right now to affect this outcome.

Newly bound, his instincts demand that he follow his alpha’s lead, do what he needs to please, but Derek shoves them aside by diverting. He lets himself be taken over by a need that’s just as strong: the need for his alpha. He catches Peter’s wrist and pulls for his attention. When Peter snarls and turns, Derek bares his throat. Peter occupies himself there, with lips and tongue and teeth, pulling soft noises from Derek. A beta’s submission is more important than inconsequential prey.

Derek closes his eyes. This is who he is, who he’ll always be. He’s part of a pack again, has been worthy enough for an alpha to claim him. He can’t disappoint. There’s contentment in this, but also so many other things he can’t quite name. Distantly, he hears the roar of the Jeep’s engine and the screech of tires. Something eases inside of him.

Peter huffs and drags Derek up. “We’ve got work to do,” he says and walks away, knowing that Derek will follow. He’s confident in the knowledge that Derek will do whatever he says. That’s what loyal betas do.

And Derek is loyal to Peter.

Right?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been kicking this fic around for 2 years. I finally just decided to say screw it and post it.


End file.
